


Take a Break

by icandrawamoth



Series: Rogue Podron Made Me Do It [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, Drinking, Face-Fucking, I'm Bad At Titles, Kissing, M/M, Military Ranks, Rogue Podron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 04:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: “The enemy of my enemy-” Vessery begins before Wedge cuts him off by pressing fingers over his lips.“I can think of better uses for your mouth than trying to convince me of that.”





	Take a Break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [storiesfortravellers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/gifts).



> Written for a comment_fic prompt: any, any enemies turned lovers (or enemies who now flirt), "Enemies are so stimulating" (Katherine Hepburn). Rogue Podron spent so much time talking up Broak Vessery, this pairing was bound to happen for me eventually. XD Set during Isard's Revenge while the Rogues are being trained at Isard's base.

The first time the Rogues manage to best one of Vessery's squadrons by a decent margin in the simulators, Wedge doffs his helmet and climbs out of his faux ship without even bothering to check the end-of-battle statistics readout, the glow of triumph bright in his chest. It's been too long since he felt that, all of them still dragged down by their losses at Distna.

Vessery is waiting for Wedge when he emerges, a sardonic smile on his face. “Congratulations, General Antilles. Your Rogues put my Strangers to shame in there.”

“We couldn't have done it without your training,” Wedge replies, and Vessery dips his head in acknowledgment.

“You and your pilots are fast learners.”

As they debrief the squadrons right there in the sim room, Wedge finds himself standing closer to Vessery than usual and can't bring himself to be bothered by it. He's high on victory; he feels bold. When the pilots are dismissed for the day, he turns to his counterpart and asks, “Shall we continue this discussion in private?”

Vessery understands his tone and barely looks surprised. “I have a bottle of Whyren's Reserve in my quarters.”

“My favorite.”

“How lucky.”

Minutes later, Wedge stands in the center of Vessery's quarters taking in his surroundings as the other man retrieves two cups and pours the drinks. The room is spartan: a neatly-made bed, desk, wardrobe, few personal effects. It reminds Wedge of the many on-base rooms he's occupied himself over the years. The man reminds Wedge of himself, too: an ace in a starfighter, fiercely loyal to his pilots. He's what Wedge might have been had he joined the Empire and never managed to escape. He's a man Wedge can respect. Could admire, even, if he wasn't ultimately on the wrong side of the war.

Vessery approaches and hands him a tumbler of the whiskey. “I never took you as the type to fraternize with the enemy.”

Wedge doesn't respond, merely takes a drink and sets the glass aside before pulling Vessery in for a firm kiss. “Enemies are so stimulating,” he teases when they part. _Teases._ Wedge wonders at himself. He feels different than he has in a long time - young and free and excited in the presence of an attractive man who clearly thinks the same of him.

A man who's making a face at him. “We're not exactly enemies,” Vessery counters.

“We're not exactly on the same side.”

“The enemy of my enemy-” Vessery begins before Wedge cuts him off by pressing fingers over his lips.

“I can think of better uses for your mouth than trying to convince me of that.”

Vessery's eyes spark. He runs his tongue lasciviously between Wedge's fingers and purrs, “I think I like the sound of that, General.”

Wedge curses sharply as his heart rate and cock jump. He wouldn't have expected his rank used in this situation to affect him like that.

Vessery lets out a delighted laugh. “Liked that, did you? Well, let's see what else we can find that you like, sir.” He sinks gracefully to his knees and goes to work on Wedge's pants.

“If you're half as good out of the cockpit as you are in it-” Wedge begins, but then Vessery's mouth is on him, stealing all his words. He groans in pleasure as the man brings him to to full hardness with lips and tongue, a hand coming to grip in Vessery's dark hair as Wedge tries to remember the last time someone touched him like this. Too long, he decides, canting his hips experimentally.

Vessery pulls off and looks up at him, panting through shiny, spit-slick lips that make Wedge's stomach jolt with _want_. “I can take whatever you can give me, General,” he says, a hint of challenge behind the statement.

Wedge is more than ready to answer it. Vessery swallows him down again, and Wedge gets both hands firmly in his hair, pressing into him, letting his thrusts grow bolder when Vessery just takes it. After another minute, Wedge is wondering dizzily if this man has a gag reflex at all. Pleasure flames up his spine, and he snaps his hips harder, Vessery letting out little pleasured grunts whose vibrations only drive sensation higher. Wedge's orgasm is close, and he tugs on the other's man's hair in warning only to have him suck harder, hands clamped on the backs of Wedge's thighs to keep him close.

Then Wedge is coming, gasping with it as his back bows and Vessery just keeps on, taking him right through it, milking him for everything he has. Wedge is shaking by the time he lets his hands drop from Vessery's hair and the Colonel pulls back.

He grins up at Wedge with red, swollen lips, and Wedge groans again as he grabs his collar and pulls him up into another kiss. That image is going to be with him for awhile. Broak Vessery is no longer the perfect image of Imperial Naval Officer; this debauched, turned on version of him is much better.

“On the bed,” Wedge instructs when he's satisfied, a hand on the other's chest already pushing him in that direction as he kicks out of his boots and pants. “My turn.”

Vessery sheds clothes and scrambles up onto the bed – though, really, with the lithe way he moves, it can hardly be called _scrambling_. Lying there on his back, gloriously naked, legs spread and proudly displaying his thick, erect cock, he's more than inviting.

Wedge pounces.

 

Later, when they've had their fill of each other and cleaned up and poured themselves back into their clothes, they sit enjoying the rest of their whiskey, conversation wandering from topic to topic: their squadrons, their training plans, the future. It isn't awkward at all. Nothing seems to have changed between them, and though Wedge hadn't been worried exactly, he's still grateful. They're two grown men who knew what they wanted from this situation and got it. Now they move on.

Wedge trails off in the comment he'd been making on rising starfighter fuel prices when his comlink signals a text message. He pulls it out and frowns down at the display.

“Trouble?” Vessery inquires, sitting up straighter.

“I don't think so. My XO is looking for me.” His frown deepens as a cold feeling edges into his gut.

“You're worried he wouldn't approve of this?”

“No, that's not it.” Tycho might not understand, but he knows Wedge can handle himself. Wedge realizes what he's feeling: guilt. Here he is indulging himself when he should be with his squadron. He stands. “I should go.”

Vessery follows suit. “General.”

Wedge turns back.

“It's not wrong to take a moment for yourself, you know. You're no good to your men if you run yourself ragged.”

The smallest smile spreads onto Wedge's lips. “Am I that easy to read?”

Vessery winces in sympathy. “I think there's a reason you became a pilot rather than an actor.”

Wedge chuckles. “Well, there is that.”

“Go to your men. I understand.” Vessery lays a hand on his arm. “If you want to do this again, though, now you know where to find me.”

“I do.” Wedge steals a last kiss on his way out the door. “Thank you, Colonel.”


End file.
